With
by SerpentsAttire
Summary: Movieverse. Rex's last night at home is dark, bitter, and sweet when it comes to telling his little brother. Angst and brotherbonding.


_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Speed Racer. That right belongs strictly to Speed Racer Enterprise (who secretly want to hire me to one job or another, they just don't know it yet). I'm just borrowing their characters and the 2008 movie's concepts._

_**Notes: **__I'm posting these as they come -- I'm on a writing binge, and I've got exactly 23 hours to get out -counts- 4 stories and two updates. Let's see how it goes. o.O_

_**Notes2: **__Um, I couldn't remember the __**exact**__ words Speed and Rex spoke. I got the gist, and they're along the same lines, but they might be out of order. I didn't change it on purpose, though!_

_**Warnings: **__Brief language, a slight slice of attempted angst, mentions of contemplated suicide (I got a little dark, sorry), and brotherbonding. Naturally._

**With**

The vinyl bag was thick and heavy, and when he dropped it on the single-sized bed he had owned since he was a child, the resounding creak was proof of it. For that reason, it probably had not been the brightest idea to toss the bag aside so carelessly, as alerting his family to his actions was not something he intended to do. But he couldn't help it – it burned.

The frown that marred Rex Racer's face was deep and troubled, cutting so deeply into his features the resulting wrinkles appeared to be purposefully molded into his forehead. His body trembled harshly with nonexistent chill, his steps slightly off-balance as he slowly darted between his dresser and the bed. From his vision-angle, the room spun, the floor appearing to spiral downwards in an attempt to suck him into an endless pit of nothingness. How he wished it would – more so, how he wished he could slink out to the gleaming Mach 5, start her engine, and leave the entire situation to the dust. A clean getaway, unexpected and unprepared for. He wouldn't be followed for at least a few hours, and by that time, he could have dashed around in convoluting circles to make tracking him damn near impossible.

Schizophrenically, his eyes darted toward the window, his body relaxing only slightly when he saw the rain-abused street was still bare.

The escape was a just a dream – he couldn't do it. He _wouldn't _do it. Despite the fact that his running would give Blackjack Benelli the Rex-free races he wanted, neither the fixer nor his partners would take well to being duped by someone they believed was coming under their control. Whilst running would ensure _his _safety, there was little doubt in Rex's mind that his family would be dead by sunrise when Benelli discovered what had happened.

The image that filled his mind at the thought caused the jeans he had been holding to slip to the ground; his teeth bore upon each other painfully, his hands clenching together tightly enough to draw blood.

'_God, why?!' _He demanded mentally, his shaking becoming more severe. _'Why is there no other way? Why can't I just say no? Why does he have to be so serious?' _Why did any of this have to be serious? Why couldn't racing just be racing, pure and simple, without some sociopath darting from the depths of the shadows to destroy it all in one swift, cruel movement? And why, for the love of God, didn't he take it seriously when the bastards had placed the damn bomb in the hands of his baby brother?

'_But you did take it seriously,'_ his mind argued in some pathetic attempt to soothe. _'You told Pops, and Lord knows that takes a hell of a lot of nerve --.'_

He dropped a pair of jeans atop the bag, effectively cutting off the voice with a swished thump.

Yes, he had told his father about the threats he had been getting both on and off the track – about the crooks such as Henry "Cruncher Block" Slade and especially Black Jack Benelli, who had taken to having Rex followed everywhere by some black-coat in a '68 Fenderson. He had told Pops that that was where the bomb from last week had come from, and had even showed him the letter that demanded Rex join with the Uniron Team or more "unfortunate accidents" would befall his family. Granted, he had withheld the attempted sabotages to the Mach 4 before races, the continuously disabled Kwiksaves, the jumps during practices (it was sad how incredibly easy it was to pass of a bruise as a result of a rumble with a disgruntled rival), and even the one attack in the locker room that had him literally scrambling to avoid getting knifed.

But as Rex hastily stuffed his jeans into the bag, he found that, despite the situation, he didn't regret doing that. Pops' answer to his current situation was to wait it out, and eventually Black Jack would either slip up in his attempts and get caught or just eventually grow bored with the pursuit. If he knew about the severity of the attempts on his son's life, he would try to go after the fixer with legal force, and Rex knew that after Black Jack won the case (which he undoubtedly would), Pops would not be left standing soon after.

A soft knock on the door didn't stop him as he quickly moved to his dresser, and the soft voice that called out, though it made his chest seize in a painful pinch, didn't surprise him.

"What're you doing, Rex?" Speed's innocent eight-year-old pitch was something Rex, though ten years older, never grew tired of. Vainly cautious, the driver allowed himself to glance at his raven-haired baby brother, only to look away instantly with an audible gulp. Shit.

"You're supposed to be in bed, Speedy," he stated softly, pointedly, as he snatched a few t-shirts from the second drawer and threw them to the bed. Looking back again as he grabbed some socks, he saw Speed look down with a slight shrug, and where a once affectionate smile would have broken out on his face for his brother's acquired mischief, his jaw simply clenched in an effort to pain away the burn in his throat.

"Are you going on a trip?" The voice was puzzled, but wary – more wary than it should be for a child his age, and Rex noticed this with guilt. Speed had heard the constant arguments that broke out between him and Pops, he knew the situation and what was coming – and even for a little kid he wasn't dense enough to not understand that when someone put a bomb in your hands, it was generally not a good thing. And Rex refused to answer him, instead gathering up an armful of underwear and dragging one single pair of boots out from under the bottom of the dresser. He was supposed to be doing this alone, so that he could work out the emotions and meet the damnable driver coming for him with a stone façade and a potentially angry fist. And yet, here was his brother – his best friend – staring up at him imploringly with wide, innocent azure eyes.

Eyes begging him for an answer he couldn't give.

More harshly than he meant to, he shoved the shirts, socks, and underwear into the bag, practically punching them into a wrinkled state as he maneuvered room for the boots. He was dawdling, he realized with surprise. He didn't need boots, and if he was honest, he didn't need the clothing at all – it was all being provided for him as Uniron's number one new driver. But … he wanted it, maybe. Something to remind him of what it was he was leaving behind. Protecting.

"It's raining." Speed's voice broke through his head once more, a mere whisper of what it was when he entered. He could hear the rain as well – how fitting, a bitter cliché for a bitter night. But he still refused to acknowledge his brother's presence any further. He really should be in bed – this was unfair to him, making him watch. The bond between the two of them was substantial, strong, and painful when spread. After tonight, Rex had every intention of severing it into pieces, with only the _hope_ that they would survive the cut to sustain him.

As it stood, Speed, if he thought about it, was the only reason he hadn't taken other ways out of this predicament. Running away had been his instant instinct when the first threat had arrived in the mail, but just the image of Speed breaking to pieces at his departure – or worse, following _after_ him – was enough to make him cool down and regain his bearings. Suicide had been a briefly entertained idea when the bomb had come, but nightmares of _Speed_ being the one to find him after it happened – of screaming, of becoming a shell – banished the thoughts instantly.

"A jacket," he muttered to himself aloud as he entered his closet. "I need a jacket."

No. This was the only way. It would still hurt Speed, but it wouldn't either literally or figuratively kill him. And that was all that mattered, and he was content with that, and ignored the fact that the hanger spun viciously when he yanked the heavy plaid jacket away. But when he came back into his room, Speed was still leaning against the wall, looking the most solemn Rex had ever seen him, and there was little doubt that the eight-year-old knew, in some sense, what was going on.

"Can I come with you, Rex?" Speed finally ventured, louder than normal, and Rex finally looking at him, catching the despair on his ridden pale face.

He knew.

"Not this time, Speedy," he replied softly, gently, because he really couldn't take the expression or the guilt it summoned forward. A frown furrowed on his face when he realized he was actually _wishing_ for the damn Fenderson to arrive, and he looked away to shove the jacket in beside the boots. _'What have we done wrong that we deserve this?'_ He raged to whoever could listen.

"When are you coming back?" A little more desperate this time, a little more lost. Rex's fists clenched violently as his zipped the vinyl duffle closed.

"I don't know." And the honest reply shook him, because it _was_ honest. He didn't know when he was coming back – _if_ he was coming back. He didn't know if he would even be alive by the end of the night, or if, when this was somehow all over, he would even be able to come home at all.

And that was when he felt it.

The stinging bite of metal into the tender palm of his hand – the red key to the Mach 5. His last held-to hope, no matter how unreal it was, still resting within his grasp. He was here, right now, with the only thing that mattered to him most in the world – one swift move, and he and Speed could both be out of here, away from danger, but still together. Speed wouldn't be torn up by Rex running away, and Black Jack _would_ eventually get bored with chasing after a threatening driver who wasn't even racing. _'Be responsible, Stupid,'_ his mind scolded. _'Think of Speed. Could you really keep him away from your parents for that long? Away from racing?'_

And now Rex turned fully, observing his little brother as the rain began to pour harder, pounding against the roof in eager anger. He didn't want to do this to himself, why the hell would he even consider doing something similar to Speed?

"There's something I want you to have," he blurted suddenly, and before he could dredge up more arguments for running, he tossed the key into the air, watching the red spin until it landed perfectly into the child's outstretched hands.

"But the Mach 5's your car!" Speed instantly protested, as he was reliable for doing. But Rex noticed that his brother's grip was tight on the key he didn't want to be holding, and shook his head as he reached down and shouldered the bag.

"Not anymore." And now he approached Speed, steps light and eyes focused on the curly mop of black hair. Without a thought, he knelt down before him, locking hazel eyes with blue, once again ignoring the burning in his throat as he allowed the burdening bag to fall to the floor. "Listen, Speed," he said seriously, noting the plea in his voice as he brought his hands up to grasp Speed's elbows. "One day, people may say things about me." 'May' was a definite understatement. "But whatever they say, well … well I just hope you never believe them." And he watched as the innocent glow that forever bathed the eight-year-old's face quickly dulled, swallowing once more as the azure eyes began to fill up with tears of realization.

"I won't," his brother promised in a firm whimper, and as the tears began to overbuild and threatened to fall, Rex felt his eyes becoming the same state.

"C'mere," he urged gently, and pulled Speed into a hug the other willingly collapsed into. He held the small form tightly as it shuddered in grief, desperately trying to hold in his own sobs as his own tears fell. Speed hung on just as strongly, and Rex buried his nose into the crook of the child's neck as he felt hot tears slip beneath the collar of his jacket to soak his shirt. He carded his fingers through the curly mop, memorizing the texture, trying to bring Speed away from the void he knew was going to grow between them. He had no doubts now – this was the last time he would be able to hold his brother. No matter what happened, the last time.

The sight of headlights beaming against the wall brought Rex back to the situation at hand, and he growled a sigh. He was here, it was time.

"Sleep in here tonight, Speedy," he offered softly, pulling and pushing back until their bloodshot eyes were once again locked. Again he ran his fingers through the hair, this time to soothe, and smiled bitterly as Speed leaned into the touch. With no offered protest to the plan, he gathered his brother once more into his arms, lifting them both up and moving to his bed before gently pealing the child from him and lowering him to the soft mattress. Speed didn't need any prompting – he simply lay down and burrowed violently into the pillows as Rex drew the quilted comforter over him, tucking him in in the same way he had many, many nights before. Only this time, he wasn't in the bed as well, and there would be no one to fight away the nightmares that would plague the raven-haired boy tonight.

"I don't want you to go," Speed finally protested softly, barely heard from his muffled station of pillows. Once again Rex clenched his jaw to stop the tears as he reached down, and after holding out his own long enough, managed to clasp Speed's hand.

"I know, honey," he whispered the rare endearment, usually saved only for when Speed was injured or sick and sought his comfort. "I know." And he bent down, planted a firm kiss to his brother's forehead, and then left, careful to leave the door just slightly open so the hall light would shine through, and then moved quickly down the hall to avoid a prolonged, painful goodbye.

Speed's eyes continued to haunt him even through his raging battle with Pops, the cutting remark of "don't you ever come back" only making it worse. _'It's not like I can,'_ he thought mournfully as he closed his front door quietly behind him. No slamming. His words may have been defiant, but he wasn't angry. Only defeated.

The rain failed to bother him as he approached the '68 Fenderson, and he opened the passenger door and just slid in, not caring as his drenched body soaked the interior.

"Took you long enough," the driver greeted in an eerily cheerful voice. "Thought that I was going to have to show you that Mr. Benelli _does_ mean business."

"I told you I would be out here at eleven and I am," Rex snapped back, glaring quickly at the dashboard clock in point. "Now let's go, I think I'm supposed to be doing other things than just sitting in a car and talking to you." And the driver laughed, obligingly shifting the car into drive.

"That you do, Racer, that you do." And then the man paused, glancing toward the house in interest. "That must be your little brother that I hear so much about there at the window." Rex's stomach clenched, but he refused to give into the bait and look. "Cute. Shame it would have been, or would be, to make him scream."

'_Lay one finger on him and I swear to God I'll tear you to shreds,'_ he snarled viciously, but kept the words quiet. He was going to have to grow indifferent to him family, he had to start now. And with a great deal of effort, he refused to look out his window as the driver shrugged and stepped on the accelerator, the roar of the engine drowning out anything that might have been added to the threat.

Rex discreetly watched his home recede from the side mirror, and whispered lowly despite the noise.

"Forgive me, Speedy."

**.T.**

As the '68 Fenderson zoomed away from his street as fast as any racecar ever could, Speed Racer stepped away from the window of his brother's room, allowing the curtains to swoosh back into place as he sunk back onto the bed. Once again, he sought the refuge of the pillows, digging into them the way he and Rex would do in the mornings after he had nightmares, producing a fort similar to the ones that they would use to hide from their mom's attempts to coax them into getting ready for school. He could still here Rex's laughs from those mornings, could still feel him from this night. And as his body shivered from the realization that Rex was really gone, he wrapped one arm around him and pulled the other one up to his face, eyeing the red key to the Mach 5.

And began to cry.

_**End**_

_Note on the suicide thing: Rex is only 18 and is being faced with possibility of being the reason behind extreme misfortune befalling all of his family (hello, bomb!). In reality, suicide would be an entertained notion to one such as Rex._

_Anyway, here it is, complete, two months after the idea hits my head. T.T I'm too slow – need some motivation. Maybe I should lose internet service all the time, then I have nothing to do __**but**__ write. xD_

_Um, again with the anyway, _**please **_(yes, a bold please), click the review button at the bottom of screen and tell me your thoughts. Who knows? May spur another story. ;)_

_Always,_

_Me_


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